


It'll All Be Okay

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diapers, Forced Regression, Gen, Humiliation, Infantilism, Pants wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16794409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Poor Megan has to get out of a speeding ticket.





	It'll All Be Okay

Megan McGuiness sat in the small jail cell, and she thought about her life.

It wasn't that she hadn't thought about her life in the past - far from it. She was, if anything, prone towards the navel gazing side of introspection.

But it was the first time she'd ever had to do it from a jail cell.

Admittedly, it was a _tiny_ jail cell with curtains on the window, and the sheriff was a nice woman crocheting at her desk.

"I'm sure there's been some mistake," Megan said, for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"You were speeding the sheriff said," although at least she didn't sound angry.

Megan rubbed her fingers together - they were still tacky with ink, from being fingerprinted.

"I didn't mean to," said Megan. "I've never... I've never been arrested before."

Absurdly, she was starting to tear up.

Oh _god_.

No, she couldn't be crying now, she needed to put on a brave front. She needed to not be the person who was tearing up in the middle of the jail cell, where she was being held for speeding through a red light. 

She pressed her lips together, biting down on her bottom one, but tears were tracking down her face.

She could keep quiet, right?

She could do it, she'd do it, it would all be fine.

A whimper wormed itself out of her throat, and the sheriff looked up from her crocheting... and frowned.

"Oh, honey," said the sheriff, and then she was standing up, walking towards the bars. "Sh, it's okay. This is just a formality. You'll be fine."

Megan tried to argue, to say that she was fine, that this would all be _fine_ , but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was sobbing.

Oh god, she must have looked horrible - her brown eyes turning red, her dark hair sticking to her face with tears, her pale skin going blotchy.

She could never cry pretty. 

She was rocking now, her arms around herself, and she was crying loudly, crying the way she'd cried when she was a small child, as if her heart was breaking.

She was full on _wailing_ , and she would have been embarrassed, but this was all just... a mess.

She was running away from Boston like a bat out of hell - so maybe she'd been driving a little too fast, but she just needed to put as much space between herself and the city that she could. 

She'd been driving fast for the whole ride - it had been more than twenty four hours at this point, and she was just... tired.

It wasn't as if she had a job waiting for her there, or even a house, but she knew she needed to be there. 

And now she was stuck in... Coyote Jaw, Texas.

She'd snickered at the name when she'd gone past it, but then she'd been pulled over and, well... here she was.

Stuck.

More than just stuck - she was going to have this on her criminal record.

She'd always had perfect attendance, she didn't have _anything_ like a criminal record, and now here she was, in jail.

Megan was crying into the sheriff's chest, and the sheriff was rubbing her back, making soothing noises. The sheriff was maybe fifteen years older than Megan, and she was stroking Megan's hair, rocking her.

"I know," said the sheriff, "you're too young for this sort of thing, it's too much for you."

Megan sat up awkwardly, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

"I'm twenty years old," she pointed out, and then she sniffled, tears still dripping down her face. "I mean, it's... it's not exactly what I _should_ have been doing, but I can assure you, that was a momentary lapse in judgement. It won't happen again."

"Of course it won't," said the sheriff, and then she was... reaching into her pocket, taking out a tissue and wiping Megan's face with it. "We'll make sure of that, huh?"

There was something faintly menacing about the way she said it, but Megan couldn't exactly put her finger on what it was.

"You're going to go to court in a few hours," said the sheriff. "Maybe you should have a rest."

Megan looked down at the hard cot they were both sitting on, and she tried not to pull a face.

The thing was like marble.

"I'll tell you what," said the sheriff. "I've got a bed in the back. How about you have a sleep on that? I trust you not to run off or anything like that."

"Right," said Megan. 

Her voice seemed to be coming from a very long way off. 

Was she dissociating?

"There you go," said the sheriff, in a soothing tone of voice. "C'mon, sweetie. You can sleep a bit, have a glass of water. Your car is still in our lot, so before you go to court you can change. Hell, I'll even let you use the shower here. How does that sound?"

Megan nodded, aware that her face was turning red as she licked her lips.

"Good girl," said the sheriff, and she patted Megan on the cheek, then took Megan by the hand, leading her out of the cell. "We'll get this all sorted out, I promise."

"Right," said Megan. 

She was still floating a little bit to the left of herself, and everything seemed to be coming from a long way off.

She'd be fine.

This would all be fine. 

* * *

The bed was a narrow twin bed, and there were daffodils printed on the pillowcase. The blanket was a cheery yellow, and lined with a pale green silk. 

The sheriff drew the blanket back, and then she paused.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" The sheriff's voice was pleasant, but Megan still blushed, rubbing the back of her neck and shifting from foot to foot. 

Why was this so embarrassing? 

"I'll be fine," Megan said, and she was aware that her cheeks were turning red - damn her pale complexion, and the way it made blushing that much easier to see.

"I'm going to lock the door after you lie down," said the sheriff, in a no nonsense voice. "So if you need to go, now would be a good time to do it."

"Right," said Megan. When put like that, it made sense. "Let me just, uh...."

"Of course," said the sheriff, although she followed after Megan - even after Megan had sat down on the toilet, she could hear the sheriff leaning against the door, arms crossed.

Megan peed, washed her hands, stared at herself in the mirror.

She was still a mess - from the crying, from driving for sixteen hours. Her shirt still had a mustard stain on it, from the hot dog she'd eaten at the one rest stop, and her jeans had a gaping hole in the knee, although that wasn't visible in the mirror. 

She probably didn't smell too good either, come to think of it - being cooped up inside of a car didn't do anything for anyone's hygiene.

She sighed, splashing cold water on her face, and then she opened the door.

Maybe she'd feel better for some sleep, at least. 

The sheriff smiled at her, a wide smile that would have been unsettling if the sheriff wasn't quite so... well, cute. 

It's hard to be intimidating, when you're at most five feet tall, with screaming red hair and a face full of freckles. 

"So," said the sheriff, "you can have a nap, you'll feel better for it."

"Right," said Megan, and she made her way back to the small room, sitting down on the bed and mechanically taking her shoes off. She debated taking her pants off - who slept under the covers in _jeans_? - then kept them on, electing instead to lie down.

The sheets smelled like they'd been dried in the sun, and the pillowcase was faintly stiff against her cheek, as if it had been well starched.

She let her eyes drift shut, and she yawned, wide enough that her jaw cracked.

Maybe she was tired.

"I'll be just outside," said the sheriff. "Just holler if you need anything, okay?"

"Right," said Megan.

She was already snuggling down into the bed.

* * * 

Megan slept fitfully, shifting and twitching in her sleep.

She was aware of the door opening at one point, and the faint sound of people whispering.

When she tried to sit up, there was only mumbling, and then she was falling back asleep, like a stone dropping down into a well.

She let the sleep wash over her like a wave, and she was under again, aware that she was drooling just a bit, aware that she'd kicked the blankets down. 

The room was comfortable - after the stuffy breathlessness of her car, sleeping in this small room, with its curtains billowing from the open window (albeit a barred window) was like _heaven_.

She woke up again at some point, and the sun had nearly gone down.

She'd been arrested at seven in the morning. 

She'd fallen asleep in this small room at ten in the morning.

She didn't know what time it was now, but the sun had gone all the way up, and her stomach was growling.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and tried to get her bearings. There were a few seconds of panic as she tried to sort out where she was, what was happening, and why she wasn't in her apartment in Boston, but then it all came flooding back.

Right.

Okay.

She knew what she was doing. 

Well, no, okay, that was a total lie.

She knew where she was, at least?

That had to be worth something, right?

As if summoned by Megan waking up, the sheriff walked in.

She was carrying a plate, with a sandwich that looked to be approximately the size of Megan’s head on it. The bread appeared to be homemade, and cut thick. There were slices of what looked like ham, piece of lettuce, and tomatoes. 

“I brought you some lunch,” said the sheriff, and she smiled at Megan, and handed the plate to her. 

“Thank you,” said Morgan, looking down at the plate.

It was blue, and had little suns painted on it in yellow, which unfortunately, made them more… green. 

Oh well.

Whoever had made it had hoped to make them look nice, at least.

Megan could appreciate it.

The sheriff set a glass of water next to her as well, on the little end table. 

“So your hearing is going to be in about three hours,” the sheriff said. “They should go easy on you.”

Megan eyed the sandwich, trying to figure out how to get her mouth around it.

Hm.

Okay.

She pressed the sandwich tightly between two fingers, and then she took a bite out of it - as it was, her jaw still ached a little bit.

Still, the bread was fresh, the ham was juicy and salty, the lettuce fresh enough that it was crisp between her teeth.

Maybe it was just the surrealness of the scene, but Megan was smiling a bit in spite of herself. 

“This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life,” she told the sheriff.

The sheriff snorted, sitting on the bed next to Megan. 

“It’s just a sandwich,” she said. 

“Still,” said Megan. “It is, without a doubt, the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Do you have a tally?”

The sheriff looked amused. 

“I mean, no, but I can at least remember most of the sandwiches I’ve eaten,” Megan mumbled.

The sheriff patted Megan on the shoulder. 

“You can have a shower when you’re done,” said the sheriff.

“... can I ask a question?” 

Megan licked her lips, then took another bite, chewing carefully.

“You just did,” the sheriff said, her tone mellow.

Megan tried not to roll her eyes at that response, although… really?

She always found that kind of obnoxious.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The sheriff looked faintly embarrassed, and she rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding eye contact.

“Well,” said the sheriff, “honestly?”

“Yeah?”

“You look so… lost,” said the sheriff. “I get a lot of people judging me around here, since I’m a millennial and younger than everyone here. And here you are, Gen Z, and you don’t even know how to obey traffic laws.”

“I know how to obey traffic laws,” Megan protested, but she took another bite of her sandwich.

“If you know how to obey traffic laws, why were you speeding?”

“I… wasn’t paying attention,” Megan admitted. “I’ve been driving for almost a full day. I’ve been really tired.”

“What’s got you running like that, anyway?”

The sheriff’s tone was kind, but Megan still avoided eye contact.

“I just… needed a change of scenery,” said Megan, which was mostly true.

She didn’t need to go into why she needed said change.

“... right,” said the sheriff, and she was looking at Megan with a thoughtful expression. Then she was all business. “So I can’t let you go off to your car by yourself,” she told Megan, “and I don’t think you want to dig through your suitcase in a jail cell. How about I just bring you some nice clothes for court?”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a whole bunch of stuff,” said Megan. “I packed in a hurry.”

“Do you have some nice clothes to wear? You want to make a good impression on the judge, after all.”

“I do… somewhere,” said Megan.

Where _had_ she packed her nice clothes, come to think of it?

Possibly at the bottom of her green duffle bag.

… yeah, that sounded about right - she’d crammed everything into the bag, and the nice stuff was always at the front, so of course it had been at the bottom.

She resisted the urge to groan and cover her face.

“The pastor’s daughter left for college recently,” said the sheriff, in a tone that she probably thought was soothing. “I can ask her to come by with something for you to wear?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” said Megan. 

This was awkward as all hell, but showing up in front of a judge in a sweater with a mustard stain sounded even _more_ awkward. 

“Not at all,” said the sheriff. “Lorraine has been feeling her empty nest since her daughter moved out. It’ll do her good, to have someone to look out for.”

“Right,” said Megan. 

She couldn’t fight off the foreboding that was building in her gut.

At least she didn’t have anywhere she needed to be, right?

It had been patently ridiculous to run off to another state on the other side of the country without any kind of plan, but at least she wasn’t going to be putting anyone else out, right?

* * *

Megan ended up back in the cell - the sheriff gave Megan a book of poetry, and she was paging through it listlessly when Lorraine came in.

She was a tall, plump woman in sandals and a blue dress, and she bustled. 

It was the only verb that Megan could think of, honestly. 

She had two garment bags over one arm, and she smiled when she saw Megan in the cell.

“So you’re the hardened criminal, hm?”

She was grinning.

“Hello,” said Megan, and she smoothed her palms across the front of her wrinkled, mustard stained shirt. “I’m really sorry for putting you out.”

“Not putting me out,” said Lorraine. “Has Nicole been treating you right?”

The sheriff blushed, and she put her crocheting down.

“Lorraine,” said the sheriff, and she looked slightly awkward, as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands, “I’m Sheriff Hallaway here.”

“Right, of course,” said Lorraine, and she leaned in conspiratorially towards Megan, right up against the bars. “I remember when she was still an adorable little girl toddling around after her mother. I can’t help it. It takes a while for me to adjust.”

Megan nodded, not sure what to say.

“Now,” said Lorraine, “you’re about the same size as my daughter, so this shouldn’t be a problem. Nicole, let her out, will you?”

“Give me a minute,” said the sheriff. 

“I, uh, I need to shower,” said Megan. 

“Do you have soap? Shampoo? A toothbrush?”

Lorraine seemed inordinately invested in Megan’s hygiene, but then again, empty nester. 

Megan had read somewhere that a lot of empty nesters could get… intense.

“We’ve got all of those things,” said the sheriff - Nicole. “I’ll get her off to the bathroom, then you can sort things out.”

“Of course,” said Lorraine. “But I brought a toothbrush as well.”

“Thank you,” said Megan. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Lorraine had a big, bright face, and her eyes were dark, seeming to drink all the light in.

“Megan.”

“Well, Megan,” said Lorraine, “we’ll take good care of you here. I promise.”

“Right,” said Megan, although she wasn’t sure what to do with that.

It felt a bit like she was missing something, although she wasn’t sure what it was.

Her stomach was in knots - she’d never been to court before - and she felt like it didn’t usually go like this.

Nice older women didn’t usually take you under their wing and just take care of you, did they?

That didn’t seem to be the way that most people worked.

But for now, she’d just enjoy the chance to take a shower - she’d worry about it from there. 

* * * 

Showering felt good - almost sinfully good.

It was a regular shower in a regular bathroom - the same bathroom that she’d peed in earlier.

This was the tiniest jail that she’d ever been in, although, admittedly, she’d never actually been in a jail before. 

Still.

This felt almost like a small home, or maybe the health center for a summer camp.

Not a jail.

She stood in the bathtub, with its shower curtain printed with little lambs, and she washed her hair with a shampoo that smelled like peaches, letting her fingers sink into her dark, thick hair, as the shampoo made her scalp tingle. 

This was all taking on an air of the surreal, but she could do this.

She’d go into court, she’d explain what had happened, and then it would all be sorted out.

Maybe she’d have to do some community service - it wasn’t like she could really pay any fine, since she barely had any money to begin with. 

She barely had any _stuff_ to begin with. 

All of her stuff was currently in her car, which was in the police lock down. 

They'd probably even clamped her wheel, to make sure she didn't drive off. 

Assuming she somehow got her keys from the lock box that the sheriff - Nicole, her name was Nicole - kept, she wouldn't be able to high tail it out of there.

"You okay in there, honey?"

There was a loud knock on the door, and Megan nearly slipped - she'd been lost in her thoughts, and being pulled out of them felt a bit like being slapped.

"What? Yeah, sorry. I'll be out in a sec."

"Don't worry about it," said... was that Lorraine? That was who it sounded like. 

And then the door was opening, and she was walking in - Megan could see the other woman's long shadow on the other side of the window. 

"There's no need to come in," Megan said quickly. "It's fine. I'll be fine. It'll be fine."

"We're all girls here," said Lorraine, in a no nonsense kind of voice. "Anyway, this dress I was going to lend you has a tricky clasp up in the back, so I thought I'd help you with that."

"Right," Megan said faintly. "Thank you."

There was a faintly clunking noise, like the toilet seat being lowered, and then the shadow changed shape, as if Lorraine had sat down.

"So tell me about yourself," said Lorraine. "What brought you to our fine town?"

"Well," said Megan, "I'm on my way to Houston." 

"Houston is a pretty good place to live," Lorraine agreed. "Why there, specifically?"

"I always read about it being especially interesting," said Megan, coaching her terms carefully, "and I've always wanted to live someplace interesting."

"Where are you coming from? You were driving like a bat outta Hell, according to Nicole."

"I was just, um... very tired," said Megan. "I'm driving down from Boston, and when I'm tired, I tend to kinda... get into a zone. So I drove faster than I probably should have."

"Boston to Houston? That's some ride! Why didn't you take the plane?"

"I don't like flying," said Megan, because that was simpler than explaining the whole... well, everything.

"I never did like it much myself," Lorraine said. "I do remember going on a road trip or two when I was younger, although never _that_ far. Do your parents know where you're going?"

"No," Megan said flatly, and maybe that was rude, but they didn't need to know about all of _that_ either, because... well. 

Nobody needed to know about that.

"Won't they be worried about you, sweetheart?"

"No," Megan said. "No, they won't be."

"Oh," said Lorraine.

There was an awkward silence, and Megan wanted to kick herself. 

She was alienating one of the people who might have been her ally. It wasn't like she had a lot of allies around here, was it?

"I, uh... I've got some family, out West," she said. 

"Honey, you're in Texas," said Lorraine, and the feeling had returned to her voice. "You're pretty far West already."

That startled a laugh out of Megan, and she was still giggling as she rinsed her hair out.

Then came the tricky part.

"I'm, uh... I'm going to get out now," said Megan. _Please leave so I can do so_ was implied, but only just.

"Lemme get your towel, honey," said Lorraine, and then the shower curtain was being drawn back, and Megan squawked, covering herself with both hands.

"I've got three daughters, four sisters," Lorraine said, handing Megan the towel. "You don't have anything I ain't seen before."

"Right," Megan mumbled, but she turned around anyway, blushing and beginning to rub herself dry carefully. 

Lorraine was _still_ standing there, not saying anything, just watching her.

It was verging on creepy, and it was giving Megan the heebie jeebies.

"You're a tiny thing, ain't ya?"

At least Lorraine didn't sound particularly malicious as she said it?

"I kinda stopped growing when I was about fourteen," said Megan.

"And that was what, two years ago?"

Lorraine's voice was teasing.

Megan wrapped the towel around herself, and she got out of the bathtub, carefully.

The bathroom was big enough that they could stand near each other without touching.

"Six years ago," Megan said firmly. 

Lorraine was wearing some kind of perfume, and it was heavy and sweet - it was making Megan's head hurt, just a bit. 

Was there a way she could bring it up?

Probably not.

This was already taking on a fuzzy, strange air, and she wasn't really sure how to steer it in a different direction.

"How about I help you get dressed, and I can do your hair?"

"I can dress myself," said Megan. 

"I know, you're a young lady," said Lorraine, and then her expression turned wistful. "I used to help my daughters, before they moved out."

Oh.

So this was less some kind of... well, whatever it seemed to be, and more just an empty nester making... empty nesting motions towards Megan. 

Okay.

"You can help," Megan said, then; "thank you."

* * * 

There was something slightly surreal about wearing another person's underwear, although Megan had worn hand me downs before, so it wasn't _too_ strange. The panties were white, and they had a little bow at the front. Megan had worn something similar, when she was very young. 

She was grateful for her small chest - she didn't need to worry about a bra, at least. 

The dress was a light, sunny blue, with a hem that went over Megan's knees and a little bow at the collar. 

It buttoned up in the back, and Lorraine's fingers were careful as they buttoned it up.

Megan had the brief sensation of being closed in - being held like a straitjacket, except that was ridiculous. 

This was just a dress.

A pretty dress to be sure, and starched to hell and back, but still just a dress.

"You've got hair like my sister's," said Lorraine, and she was indicating the closed toilet seat, for Megan to sit down on.

Megan did, wordlessly. 

Her face was flush, but she wasn't sure if that was because of the heat from the shower, or from the embarrassment of this all.

Was it embarrassment?

She wasn't entirely sure.

The whole room was filled with steam, with the scent of the peach shampoo and Lorraine's perfume, and the whole mix of it was beginning to beat down on Megan's head, like a particularly floral sort of hammer. 

"She always liked to braid it," said Lorraine, and then she was beginning to brush Megan's hair.

To Lorraine's credit, she knew how to do it the right way - she didn't start from the roots and rake her way down, but rather began at the tips, and worked her way up, slowly and carefully.

It was almost... soothing, although that felt like an odd thing to say at a time like this.

Megan was being prepared for a court date, and she was finding the preparations soothing.

Someday, this would all be a funny story to tell her eventual friends, right?

Of course.

She sighed, as the comb worked through her hair and Lorraine chatted at her, more talking _at_ her than to her. 

Her damp hair was combed out, then plaited into a pair of braids, the kind that she'd worn when she was a little kid. 

She must have looked kind of silly, honestly - between the little girl dress and the braid, she felt like she was playing a character in a play.

Maybe it would get the judge to go easy on her?

"Do you have shoes, sweetie?" 

"Hm? Oh. Yeah."

Megan was drawn out of her daze again, and she blinked. 

"What kinda shoes?"

"Just a pair of sandals. They're with my other clothes, over there."

She indicated the small pile of clothes, sitting on the floor by the sink.

"Right," said Lorraine, and then she took a step back. "Don't you look like a pretty picture."

Megan stood up, and she looked at herself in the mirror, trying not to pull a face at what she saw.

She looked like she was trying to play at being a little girl.

She wasn't sure how she... felt about that.

_Maybe if I put some pipe cleaners in my braids and daw some freckles on, I'll look like a cleaned up Pippi Longstocking,_ flashed through her head, and she grinned in spite of herself.

"Oh, you've got such a lovely smile," said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the shoulder. "You should smile more, honey. You've got the cutest little dimples!"

Megan blushed, looking down at the sink, and Lorraine patted her on the cheek. 

"C'mon. Let's get you to the courthouse. Judge Hopper is an easygoing man, but he likes his punctuality."

"Right," said Megan, then, "you're coming with me?"

"Might as well," said Lorraine, bending down to gather up Megan's clothes, indicating for Megan to put on her sandals. "It ain't like there's much else to do around here anyway - since my daughters all moved, I'm at loose ends when I'm not at the soup kitchen."

"Right," said Megan.

Okay.

She could do this.

* * * 

Judge Hopper was _also_ a woman - an older woman.

Megan was beginning to think that the whole town was just... run by older women. Even as they'd walked to the courthouse (two whole blocks) she hadn't seen any men. 

Judge Hopper sat on the bench in her black robe, and she looked over her glasses at Megan. She had grey hair, pulled back in a bun, and her face looked more like a grandmother than any kind of judiciary person.

Then again, Megan didn't know many judges. Maybe she was being judgmental.

The joke had wormed its way into her head before she even had a chance to stop it, and she was grinning, biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"Is something funny?"

Judge Hopper had a surprisingly quiet voice for a judge, although then again, it wasn't a very big courthouse.

When they'd mentioned "courthouse," Megan had pictured the kind of place Gregory Peck would give great speeches in, like in _To Kill a Mockingbird._

This looked like a community college lecture hall, except with a giant desk in front, with the judge looking down at them.

The stenographer - another older woman - had a firm, pinched face, as if she had just eaten a lemon, and her fingers flew over the keys as the judge spoke.

"Megan McGuinness, you were doing ninety miles an hour in a fifty mile an hour zone, which is _also_ a zone that our school buses happen to drive on. If you'd been driving just half an hour later, you might have hit one of them."

Judge Hopper's tone was firm now.

Megan looked at her feet, and her toes curled against the bottoms of her sandals.

She was cold - the courtroom was air conditioned, almost _over_ air conditioned. 

It was a bit like being in a freezer.

She wished she had on a pair of pants a proper pair of shoes. 

Her arms and legs were breaking out in goosebumps, and she was going to start shivering soon, if she wasn't careful. 

"I'm sorry," Megan said, her voice very quiet.

"Do you have any defense as to why you were driving so fast?"

"I didn't realize it was a school bus zone," Megan said. "And it was early enough that... I didn't think that anyone around would notice."

"I see," said Judge Hopper, and she was frowning. "So you believe that it's perfectly fine to do bad things, as long as nobody else is around to notice them?"

"Well, no -"

"If that's not what you think," Judge Hopper said, speaking over Megan's objection, "then I do believe you will be monitored."

"M-monitored?"

Were they going to put an ankle bracelet on her, or something similar?

How was she supposed to deal with _that_?

She wanted to be in Houston, not stuck in this backwater town in the middle of nowhere!

"One hundred hours of community service. You will be staying with Lorraine Pierce's family, as she is a respected member of the community, and can be expected to keep you on the straight and narrow." 

“One hundred… hours,” said Megan, and her voice seemed to be coming from a very long way off.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Judge Hopper’s voice was stern.

“No,” said Megan. “No, I can… I can do it.”

“Right,” said the judge, and she banged on her gavel.

It was very loud in the small space. 

* * *

“You can stay with us, dear,” said Lorraine.

She had an arm around Megan’s shoulders. 

“I”m… I can’t repay you,” Megan said. 

She was existing a bit to the left of herself presently - dissociating strongly enough that she was almost surprised that she was walking. 

They were walking towards the jailhouse again, presumably to pick up Megan’s stuff.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lorraine, and she squeezed Megan. “It’s my Christian duty, after all.”

Megan’s stomach twitched a little bit at that. 

“Right,” she said. 

“You can stay with me and my husband,” said Lorraine. “He’s the pastor at the church. And you can do your community service at our soup kitchen. It’s open six hours, every other day. So you’ll be done in no time!”

“Right,” Megan said again. 

“It’ll be nice to have a little girl around the house again,” Lorraine said, in a tone that could be read as _nostalgic_.

“I’m not exactly a little girl,” Megan pointed out. “I’m twenty years old.”

“Of course, of course,” said Lorraine. “My mistake. So your car will stay impounded, but you’ve got your things in it, right?”

“Right,” said Megan. 

She was repeating herself.

She probably needed to do something about that.

“We can help me around the house as well,” said Lorraine. “There’s plenty of things to keep you busy, and then you can be up and on your way in no time. Unless you end up liking it here so much you wanna stay!”

Megan nodded mechanically.

Was she in shock?

This felt a bit like shock - or at least, what she’d read shock felt like.

“It’s going to be fine,” Lorraine promised. “I promise.”

* * *

Lorraine loaded Megan’s suitcase into her own car, and she indicated for Megan to get in. 

“I live a bit of a ways out,” she told Megan. 

“Yeah?”

The image of the Sawyer family flew into Megan’s head like a bird into a window, with a resounding smack and a lot of bones.

Oh crap.

And she’d watched _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ right before leaving, a joke from her best friend, even though she’d pointed out that she was moving to _Houston_ , not some backwoods, middle of nowhere place. 

… like here.

Oh god.

Was this going to be like something out of the plot of some shitty horror movie?

“So, uh… do you get a lot of people from out of town around here?”

Megan tried to keep her voice casual.

“Not really, no,” said Lorraine. “I meant to ask you - what brought you along our way in the first place?”

“I was getting highway hypnosis,” said Megan, “and I figured a little change of scenery might help with that. And I was very tired, so I might not have been thinking clearly.”

“You should have pulled over,” Lorraine said, in a scolding tone of voice.

“I know,” Megan said, and was aware of just how resigned she sounded. 

“Well,” said Lorraine, “now you know for the future!”

_I know to stay away from weird little towns,_ thought Megan, but didn’t say.

Instead, she yawned - yawned wide enough that her jaw cracked - and then apologized, covering her mouth with one hand.

“You’re plum tuckered out, huh?”

Lorraine sounded sympathetic, and one hand went to Megan’s knee, patting it.

“I’m pretty tired, yeah,” said Megan.

“How long were you driving, anyway?”

“A pretty long time,” said Megan.

“What had you in such a hurry?”

“I wanted to get to Houston,” said Megan, because that was all that she was going to say.

“Any particular reason?”

“Wanted to get there quickly.”

The silence in the car turned awkward, and Lorraine cleared her throat, leaning over to turn on the radio.

Country music filled the small space, and Megan resisted the urge to sigh.

This was better than going to jail, right?

Better than going to jail, or paying money she didn’t have, right?

Hopefully.

“How about you go have a lie down when we get to the house?” Lorraine’s voice was kind. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time for supper.”

“I’d like to help out,” said Megan. “Since you’re already putting me up, I mean.”

“Nonsense,” said Lorraine. “You’re tired. You’d be more of a hindrance, in the state you’re in.”

“Right,” said Megan. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing so much,” said Lorraine. “You’re doing _fine_.”

“Right,” said Megan. 

This would all be fine.

Absolutely fine.

* * *

Lorraine’s house was big.

It was big, and there was a lot of land around it.

Were Megan the paranoid short, she would have worried about being murdered and buried under the apple orchard. 

Luckily she wasn’t, right?

She kept telling herself she wasn’t, at any rate. 

Maybe she’d even believe it.

“You can stay in Loretta’s room,” said Lorraine, as she grabbed Megan’s suitcase and walked straight into the house. 

The door was unlocked.

“Thank you,” said Megan. 

“She’s my youngest,” said Lorraine. “Off to college as well. It’s just been me and Norman since then. He’s off ministering right now, so it’s just you and me.”

“Right,” said Megan.

She repeated herself a lot around Lorraine.

She’d have to work on that, to look a little bit less like an idiot. 

But she’d worry about that later.

“You can just have a nap,” said Lorraine, as the two of them entered into what was presumably Loretta’s room.

It was pink.

Very pink.

Unsettlingly pink.

_There must have been a pink deficit in Texas, after she decided to paint this room,_ flashed through Megan's mind, and she tried not to start giggling.

... wow, but she must have been loopy, if she was giggling at literally everything.

The bed had a canopy, and the canopy was lacy - it even had curtains.

It reminded Megan of nothing so much as a fancy toddler bed, only sized to fit an adult, and that wasn't really helping her feel better, with her hair in braids like this and in the ridiculous blue dress.

"I'll just unbutton you," said Lorraine, and she was pushing Megan's braids over, so that they dangled over Megan's shoulders, over her chest.

"I think I can... okay.

Lorraine's fingers were deft and quick as they undid the buttons, and Megan heaved a sigh of relief, as the tight neck was finally - _finally_ released.

"There you go," said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the shoulder. "You have some sleep - you look exhausted."

"Right," said Megan, and she bit back a yawn, rubbing her eyes. "Thank you, again."

"Don't worry about it, honey," said Lorraine, and she hugged Megan from behind, her chin on Megan's shoulder.

Megan sighed, and she leaned back into it, and then Lorraine was walking out and closing the door, leaving Megan alone in the pink room. 

It was like being trapped inside of an internal organ, only with more lace.

Still.

Megan went to her suitcase, digging through it to find her _own_ clothes.

And her cell phone.

It was empty, and she didn't feel like digging up an outlet around here, and anyway, who was she going to call?

She probably needed to check her email at some point, but... not now.

Her head hurt, and she was just so damn _tired_ all of a sudden.

She changed out of the dress - finally - into a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, then pulled back the covers and crawled under them.

The mattress was firmer than Megan would have expected - this doily of a bed looked like it would have swallowed her alive.

Not that she was going to complain too hard - she'd never been one for super soft beds, and any bed was better than sleeping on her couch, or the futon mattress on the floor that had been her bed for the last few months.

Okay.

She was going to sleep.

She was going to sleep, and then she'd wake up and be productive and show just how much of a good worker she could be. 

She'd impress them all, and then she'd go off to Houston, maybe even with a reference.

... wait, did it count as a reference if it was given by the person who gave you community service because you couldn't pay off your speeding ticket?

She'd worry about that later.

One thing at a time and whatnot. 

* * *

Megan was woken up by Lorraine shaking her shoulder.

It was dark in the pink room, although everything still somehow _felt_ pink - more of an ashes-of-roses sort of pink, versus a brighter pink, but still.

"Honey," said Lorraine, "you should get up, eat some dinner."

Megan sat up, rubbing her eyes.

Her hair seemed to have slipped out of its braids, and was now in a mess around her face. 

"Dinner?"

"I let you sleep in," said Lorraine, "since it's been such a strenuous day for you. But you should eat before you go back to sleep."

"Right," Megan said, still dazed. 

"I'll let you get dressed for dinner," Lorraine said, and then she was patting Megan on the head, turning on the light as she walked out, leaving the door open.

"... right," said Megan.

Okay.

She could do this.

She just needed to wake up a bit more, to feel more like a human being before she could go present herself in her new, strange company.

But she could do it.

* * *

Megan took her hair out of the braids, brushing it out. It was wavy from being braided, and fanned out around her face. She had a pillow crease on one cheek, and her chin was tacky where she had drooled.

She changed into a button down shirt and a pair of nice jeans - that counted as dressing nicely, didn't it?

She rubbed her eyes again, and she stretched, trying to decide if she needed to put on a pair of socks, or if her bare feet would be a problem.

Lorraine had been barefoot, right?

It probably wouldn't be a problem.

Right.

Okay.

Megan surveyed herself in the mirror, and she stretched again, longer and harder this time, and then she made her way towards the kitchen. 

This would be fine.

* * *

Lorraine's mouth narrowed into a line when she saw Megan's outfit, and she frowned.

Then she brightened her face, although it was clear that she was putting it on.

"I should've thought," she told Megan, "that you wouldn't have anything nice to wear. Anything in the closet, you can borrow - my daughter took all of her favorite clothes with her to college, so anything in there is free for you to wear."

Megan tried not to frown back.

Well.

That was... ouch.

"Thank you," Megan said. "Would you like me to go change?"

"Nah," said Lorraine. "It's too late now. We just know for the future. And I can do your hair for you, if you're having trouble with it."

"Right," said Megan. 

_Ouch_.

Dinner was meatloaf - it had a baked on crust, made of ketchup and possibly brown sugar?

Megan didn't know much about cooking. 

There was a hard boiled egg baked into the middle on it, and spinach.

"I've always loved meatloaf," Lorraine said. "Because it's so easy to make, but you can modify it in so many ways, can't you?"

"I don't know much about cooking," Megan admitted, as Lorraine dished a big slice onto her plate. "I mainly lived on microwave meals, when I was back in Boston."

"Oh, honey," said Lorraine. "We should fix that. Every woman needs to know how to cook - only little girls eat like that, and _very_ little ones, for that matter."

... _ouch_.

"Right," Megan said.

This was better than jail.

Lorraine poured Megan a glass of apple juice, and put a straw in the cup, which was… odd, but maybe it was a Texas thing. She had a glass of wine next to her own plate.

"Do you want to say grace?" Lorraine asked Megan.

"I don't know how to," Megan said awkwardly.

This was all... uncomfortable.

So, so uncomfortable.

"Didn't your parents teach you?" Lorraine looked scandalized.

"No," said Megan, and she didn't go into any more detail, because that wasn't necessary, right?

"Well," said Lorraine, "I'll say grace. Norman can teach you, when he gets back."

"Right," said Megan.

She had wondered why there were only the two plates at the table. 

"He's out late," said Lorraine. "One of his flock is having a hard time of things, so he's staying with her."

Megan nodded.

"Now, put your hands together and close your eyes," said Lorraine.

Megan did as instructed.

Lorraine rattled off a prayer - Megan wasn't really paying attention - there was something uncomfortable about all of this religion, although she wouldn't point it out.

She was a guest here, and there wasn't really a polite way to say "I'm an atheist and find most of this stuff bunk" without being rude.

Plus, food. 

Food she wasn't going to have to pay for. 

True, she had to do it for community service, but Lorraine seemed like a nice enough person, and it wasn't as if Megan was going to have to worry about being murdered in the middle of the night, or anything like that, right?

She'd get this over with, she'd get some food in her belly, and then she'd drive off to Houston.

Who knew - maybe staying in the middle of nowhere would do her some good!

... she could hope.

Okay.

"Megan, honey, you say "amen" now, okay?" Lorraine was using the same sort of voice that a person would use for a little kid. 

"Right. Amen."

"Good girl," said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the hand. "Now... let's dig in!"

"Thank you," Megan said, picking up her own knife and fork. 

* * *

The meatloaf was good.

It was well spiced, and the ketchup-brown sugar combo seemed to suit the meat.

She let Lorraine talk to her, and she learned more details - the meatloaf was a mix of pork and beef, the coating turned out to be ketchup, mustard, and brown sugar. The trick was, apparently, to soak the bread crumbs in beef stock first, before using them with the beef, and that helped add flavor. There was spinach in the meatloaf, since Norman was "a dear, but wouldn't touch a green vegetable if it was force fed to him, so they get hid." 

She didn't know what beef stock was, or why you'd add breadcrumbs to meatloaf in the first place. She couldn't taste the spinach, but then again, she didn't have much of a palate when it came to vegetables - her own upbringing had involved freezer burned broccoli and frozen peas, so anything that didn't taste like _that_ was pretty good, as far as she was concerned. 

Norman was apparently visiting the family of a teenager from another town over - "we're such a small town, we've got one parish, covering three different towns!" - and she was "in the family way, and only seventeen" but was "keeping the baby, of course" they just couldn't get the father to "take responsibility." 

Megan made vague affirmative noises as she ate her dinner.

Lorraine didn't seem to be talking _to_ her so much as talking _at_ her - as if she just needed someone to make "I'm listening" sounds. 

"Of course, we all knew Savannah would be getting into some kind of trouble, the way her mother lets her run around," said Lorraine. "That's the thing about girls - you gotta keep 'em close, to keep 'em from getting into any kind of mischief. At least she's keeping the baby. I heard about a girl from a few towns over, she... you know." Lorraine's face went dark.

Megan nodded, although she wasn't entirely keeping track.

"All the young folks around here moved out," Lorraine added, and her face was taking a slightly sad cast. "It's a pity. I miss havin' babies around. My own daughters - well, one is in Dallas, and one moved all the way to Phoenix. Says she prefers the desert. We got desert in Texas, I tell her, but she says it ain't the same kind of desert."

Megan nodded, and took a drink of her apple juice - she hadn’t drunk apple juice since she was about three years old. 

She'd already committed a whole bunch of faux pas tonight.

Might as well just go along, right?

"You staying here, you're probably lowering the average age by a good twenty years," Lorraine said, and then she threw her head back and laughed. 

Megan grinned back, faintly nervous.

“This is, uh, this is the smallest town I’ve ever stayed in,” she told Lorraine.

“Is it, now?” 

“Yeah. Born and raised in Boston.”

“But you decided to just up and leave, to go to Houston?”

“Yep,” said Megan. 

“Any particular reason why?”

Lorraine’s tone was friendly but probing.

“I felt like I needed a change of scenery,” said Megan, which was true. 

There was more to it than that, but that was part of it.

“Would you ever like to go back?”

“No,” Megan said, going with bluntness instead of… well, anything else.

“Right,” said Lorraine, and it was her turn to be faintly awkward.

The small kitchen was quiet, apart from chewing, then Lorraine began to speak again.

“So is this your first offense?”

Megan let out a bark of laughter.

She couldn’t entirely help it - it wasn’t that she found the situation _funny_ , per se, but there was something about that sentence that just… was so ridiculous.

Here she was, sitting in a kitchen with a pastor’s wife who had just insulted her clothes, her hair, and her upbringing, in a small town in the middle of Texas.

At least she hadn’t seen any seven foot dudes with a leather face mask on, right?

She took another slug of her juice, which went down, thin and sweet.

It was, frankly, just this side of unpleasant, but it was still cold and wet, which was what Megan needed.

Her head was throbbing like a broken tooth, and her mind felt foggy.

“Sorry,” said Lorraine, and she looked faintly sheepish. “I’m, uh, I’m not really sure how to talk about this.”

“It’s fine,” Megan assured her. “It’s, uh… it’s my first time. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Well,” said Lorraine, “at least it happened in a nice place like here, instead of out in the big city.”

Megan nodded, although she wasn’t sure if she agreed with that, exactly.

She didn’t want to have that argument, although she already missed being in the city.

She wanted to be lost in the crowd, wanted to sit in her own place, surrounded by people who she didn’t know, who she could trust not to get involved in her business.

She bit back a sigh, and then she smiled at Lorraine in a way that hopefully came off as genuine.

“Since you made dinner, how about I do dishes?”

“Nonsense,” said Lorraine, her voice firm. “You’re our guest. You need to do your community service, true, but you can do that when you’re not falling over exhausted. Anyway, you helping _me_ isn’t community service, just helping me.”

“Right,” said Megan. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” said Lorraine. “Have some pie.” 

“Thank you,” said Megan. “What kinda pie?”

“Apple,” said Lorraine. “Not exactly in season, but Yolanda’s son in law works in one of those fancy greenhouses that experiments with new types of apples, and she got three bushels and didn’t know what to do with ‘em. I’m always up for making pie.”

“Is this juice from that bushel as well?”

That would make sense - Megan had heard of people having too much of something, and ending up making half a dozen… well, whatever.

“Nope, store bought,” said Lorraine. “It’d take more than a bushel of apples to make enough apple juice.”

“Right,” said Megan. 

She reached out for her cup, and... knocked it over.

Of course.

“Sorry, sorry,” Megan gabbled, and she was grabbing for a napkin, but there was apple juice all over her lap, dripping down the table, and Lorraine was already standing up, grabbing a towel and mopping up the mess.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” said Lorraine. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll get you your pie, then you can go to bed. You’re obviously still tired.”

Come to think of it, Megan’s head _was_ still fuzzy. 

“Right,” Megan said, and she washed, somewhat dazed, as Lorraine bustled about, cleaning up the floor, then coming back with a plate of pie, a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.

“There you go, honey,” said Lorraine. “You can have your pie, then head to bed.”

Megan glanced at the clock over the counter, and saw that it was getting towards nine.

“Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?”

“You’re obviously exhausted,” Lorraine said. “Don’t wanna push you too hard, you might end up making more of a mess!”

Megan flushed, and was aware that she was flushing, but didn’t say anything.

She ate her pie, as Lorraine kept talking to her.

“You can brush your teeth and put your jammies on… I guess you’ve never said your prayers before, have you?”

“I don’t say prayers, no,” said Megan. 

“Well….” Lorraine faltered, then tried again. “They always help me sleep better, if you’d like me to help you with that.”

“Thank you,” said Megan. “I’ll be sure to come to you if I need any help.”

“It’s good to have a little girl around the house again,” Lorraine said, and she patted Megan on the cheek, then went off, presumably to do… well, who knew what.

“Right,” Megan said out loud, and then she was going to the pink bedroom again, to dig through her suitcase for her toothbrush.

* * *

Megan brushed her teeth, washed her face, peed, and generally got herself sorted for the evening.

She settled into the bed in the pink room, and tried to ignore the sensation that she was being held in a womb.

It was all just so… _pink_.

So pink, and full of frills.

What was this Loretta like, anyway?

Megan turned the light off, and she curled onto her side, pulling the blankets over herself, her eyes sliding shut.

She was still so _tired_ \- it was unusual for her to be this low energy. Not that she was normally… vivacious or anything like that, but all of this sleeping seemed out of character.

Maybe it was just the strangeness of the situation - that had been a way of dealing with problems in the past.

So she rolled onto her stomach, pulling the blankets further on top of herself, and tried to will herself to sleep.

* * *

Three days went by - Megan helped around the house, mainly with cleaning. Lorraine said something about how the soup kitchen schedule was in shifts, which Megan wasn’t going to complain about too much - she didn’t know much about how to cook, and it was nice to be able to do things she had some experience with.

She met a few of the church ladies - they were all in their forties and fifties, and all of them had names like something out of a Tennessee Williams piece.

There were frowns at her wearing pants, but at least she was able to get stuff done, right?

She stayed in a bit of a fog - she kept drinking apple juice, although she also kept spilling it, and every time, Lorraine would frown. 

Norman was always busy - Megan wondered, faintly, if he existed, but she saw a few pictures of a man with a mustache around the place, so he had to exist, right?

She did a lot of ironing, a lot of lifting and carrying. 

Everything seemed to be happening a long way off, but hey - at least she wasn’t in Boston, right?

* * *

Megan was woken up at an ungodly hour by Lorraine, who was smiling like a model on a leaflet in church. 

It had been four days, and they were going to go to the soup kitchen. 

For a moment, Megan wondered what this strange woman was doing here, and then all of the memories of past few days (and the pinkness of the room) crashed down on her like a pile of dictionaries. 

… oh. 

“Rise ‘n shine,” said Lorraine. “You ready for a new day?” 

“Sure,” Megan said, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. 

“I set a dress out for you,” said Lorraine. “We’re going to go ministering today.”

“Minstering,” Megan echoed.

Everything seemed to be happening a long way off, and to someone else.

She covered a yawn.

“Yeah. Just some light cleaning, delivering a few things. We can do some prep at the soup kitchen as well.”

“Prep,” Megan repeated.

“Exactly, prep,” said Lorraine. “Just some onion chopping, getting meat prepped. Things like that.”

“Right,” said Megan.

She knew absolutely nothing about food service or food preparation, but… well, how hard could it be, right?

Everyone made jokes about how anyone could work in food service, so she could do it.

She had a college degree, for crying out loud! 

This would be no problem.

* * *

Lorraine lay out a dress for Megan, right there on the bed - it was like being three years old again, only somehow, more embarrassing. 

"You gonna be okay brushing your teeth and your hair, darling?"

"I'll be okay," Megan assured Lorraine. "Thank you."

"Good girl," said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the head. "Come meet me downstairs, we can start getting ready to go."

"Right," said Megan. 

She sat up completely, as Lorraine walked out of the room, leaving the door (conspicuously) open.

Hm.

Megan stared at the dress draped across the bed.

It was a little on the lacy side for Megan's taste, but then again, she _was_ going to be working at a church, so that did make some kind of sense, right?

She rubbed her eyes, trying to get her brain into some kind of working order, and the she yawned.

Okay.

Get up, get dressed, wash face, brush teeth.

She could do this.

* * * 

This dress didn't have any ridiculous buttons down the back like the last one did, thankfully. 

It was yellow, and it had lace around the collar and the sleeves. 

She brushed her hair, and she pulled it back into a single braid, right down her back. She remembered what Lorraine had said the other day, about having her hair back, and anyway, you were supposed to wear your hair pulled back when you worked with food, right?

Right.

Okay.

Megan looked down at herself, and she frowned.

She looked like she should have been modelling dress patterns in some catalog from the fifties.

But that couldn't be helped, could it?

Okay.

She rubbed the back of her neck, staring into her own tired face, and then she gave a gusty sigh, and made her way downstairs.

Okay.

She was going to do this, and she was going to do it well.

Megan McGuinness didn't half ass _anything_.

* * *

Lorraine had set out a plate for Megan.

She had also set out a sippy cup.

It was exactly the same as the sort of sippy cups that Megan's mother had left out, when Megan had been a little kid.

There was a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and toast next to the sippy cup, and there wasn't a knife.

"Oh, honey," said Lorraine, and she smiled at Megan, a smile that went all the way to her eyes. "Look at you!"

"Thank you," said Megan, running her hands across her thighs nervously, smoothing out her skirt.

"You're an absolute darling," said Lorraine, and she pinched Megan's cheek. 

She was holding the spatula in one hand, and the whole kitchen smelled like bacon.

"Thank you," said Megan.

"So it's gonna be you, me, and a few of the other ladies from church," said Lorraine. "Sit, sit."

Megan sat down, and made to take off the lid of the sippy cup... only for Lorraine to make a tsking noise.

"No, I put that on so you wouldn't spill," said Lorraine. "I don't want to clean up another mess."

"... right," said Megan.

She was blushing.

"I'm sure you're just having a bit of a clumsy period," Lorraine said cheerfully. "We all go through 'em. But I don't want the floor to get sticky."

"Where is... uh, Norman?" Megan didn't want to talk about having any kind of "clumsy period" or anything like that - it was too embarrassing. 

"He'll be at the church," said Lorraine. "He's looking forward to meeting you, though!"

"I'm looking forward to meeting him, too," said Megan, and she mostly meant it.

She took a drink of her juice, and found it to be... more watered down apple juice.

It had a faint aftertaste - almost chalky - and she tried not to wrinkle her nose.

She was already being treated like a little kid - it wasn't exactly right of her to add to the act, was it?

"So how does the community service thing work?"

"I'm going to sign off on you working," said Lorraine, "and you _will_ be working. We'll go to the soup kitchen when it's open, and we'll go from there."

"How can you keep the soup kitchen open so often, when it's such a small town?"

"We have a whole bunch of people from out of town come in," said Lorraine. "The homeless shelters nearby bus 'em in."

"Oh," said Megan. 

"It's our duty, as good Christians," said Lorraine, as she set her own plate down onto the table.

Megan bit her tongue - _which "our" are you talking about, exactly?_ \- and took a bite of her eggs.

They were delicious - there was a touch of garlic in them, and something fresh and green.

The toast was buttered, and had blueberry jam scraped across it as well. 

The whole mix of it was just... perfect, and she drank her juice down as well, although navigating the sippy cup made it a bit difficult - some of it ended up dripping down her chin.

Lorraine reached over, unconcerned, and wiped her chin.

Megan flushed, but kept her eyes on her plate.

"D'you want anything with your eggs?"

"Mmm?" Megan looked up from her plate.

"With your eggs," Lorraine repeated. "Norman likes 'em with hot sauce, and one of my daughters used to put ketchup on 'em."

"Oh," said Megan. "No, I'm okay with them being like this."

"You don't like a lot of... stuff on your food, do you?"

Lorraine was looking at Megan with a critical eye.

Megan flushed, licking her lips.

"I, uh, I kind of have the palate of a three year old," she admitted.

Lorraine's face did... something. 

Megan didn't entirely understand it, except that it was something that made her faintly nervous.

"Well, that's okay," said Lorraine. "There's more to life than food, after all."

"Right," said Megan. 

"I can teach you how to cook a bit, while you're at the soup kitchen," Lorraine added.

Megan nodded.

"Thank you again for all of this," she said. "For... letting me stay, for feeding me, for letting me do community service -"

"Think nothing of it," Lorraine assured her. "Finish your juice and your breakfast, and we can get going."

"Right," said Megan. "Sounds like a good plan."

* * * 

Megan finished her breakfast, and even submitted when Lorraine wiped her face - she wasn't usually one to take such manhandling, but Lorraine was both about a foot taller than her, and doing all of these things for her.

It wasn't like she could complain, could she?

Lorraine began to pack a bag, and she handed it to Megan, who slung it over one shoulder.

"Now," said Lorraine, "the bathroom in the church is a little finicky - the door sometimes gets stuck, so it takes work to get it fixed. If you're having trouble with it, come ask me for help and I'll unlock it for you. There's a trick to it."

"Right," said Megan. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it," said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the cheek. "You're such a doll, ain't you?"

"Thank you," Megan said again, and she was blushing.

"Let's get going," said Lorraine, and then she was just... grabbing Megan by the hand, leading her out of the house, towards the car. "We're gonna stop by my friend Rita's house first - she helps out as well, everyone likes her."

"Of course," said Megan. 

"You'll sit in the back," said Lorraine, indicating the back seat, and Megan meekly scooted into the back seat, buckling herself in. Lorraine's bag rested in her lap, the canvas scratchy where it was rubbing up against her legs.

She was sleepy for some reason, sleepy and foggy headed.

She leaned back into the seat cushions, her eyes sliding shut.

The car started up with a rumble, and it was soothing, like being rocked by a giant pair of arms.

She wasn't even aware that she was falling asleep.

* * * 

Megan was woken up by the car door slamming - she jolted awake, blinking in the light.

"Sorry, honey," said the woman who was looking back at Megan. "Didn't mean to wake you."

She had a pale face, with wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth, and her eyes were a bright, striking blue.

"It's alright," said Megan, and she hid a yawn behind her hand. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude."

"Don't worry about it," Rita said, and she smiled at Megan, then got settled into the front seat. "You must be Megan - Lorraine told me all about you!"

When had Lorraine gotten the chance? Maybe after Megan had gone to sleep?

"Nice to meet you," Megan said meekly, and then she yawned again. 

"It's way too early - Lorraine just likes to get everything done as soon as possible." Rita gave Lorraine a Look, that Megan could catch even from the back seat.

"When it's done, it's done," Lorraine said.

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to be _done_ right away," said Rita.

The two of them were bickering, in a familiar way that felt almost like a conversation.

What would it be like, to have a friend for so long that you could do that with?

Megan had never really had that kind of closeness.

The car was still lolling her to sleep, and she was out like a light before they'd been driving for five minutes - she just couldn't seem to keep her eyes open. 

The quiet grumble of the car and the back and forth of Rita and Lorraine's conversation helped - it was like a white noise machine, drowning out her own thoughts.

Come to think of it, her own thoughts were a bit far away, weren't they?

She wasn't going to worry about that too much - she was going to stay here, in the back seat, and sleep until she was needed.

* * *

Some indeterminate time later, Megan was woken up.

She blinked in the light - it had gotten brighter, at some point - and then she stood up, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh," she said. "We're here."

"We are indeed," said Rita, and she grinned at Megan. 

Megan grinned back, uncertainly.

"Oh, honey," said Lorraine, and she was twisting around in her seat, a tissue in her hand. "You were drooling in your sleep."

"Was I? I'm sorry."

Megan was flushing so hard that her heart was beating in her ears, her cheeks so red that she felt like they were on fire.

"It's fine," Lorraine assured her. "It happens to all of us."

Lorraine dabbed at Megan's face, wiping the spit, and then she tucked a piece of Megan's hair behind one ear. 

"You look absolutely darling," Rita told Megan, as Megan got out of the car, stretching, her hands behind her head, her back arching as she stretched. 

"Thank you," said Megan, and she looked down at her feet.

She was wearing an old pair of shoes that were about two sizes too big - she only had open toed shoes, and those were apparently a no go, when it came to doing kitchen work.

Not that she knew much about it, but still.

"Now," said Lorraine, "we'll unload the car, and then we can start doing prep work. People will start showing up in a few hours, so I figure it helps to be ahead, right?"

"By people, she means the other people who volunteer at the soup kitchen," said Rita, her expression sardonic. 

"If you other people are going to be helping, why are we doing all this now?"

Megan came around the back of the car, the bag dangling from one wrist, and then she let Lorraine put a big bag of what felt like onions in her hands.

They were heavy, and she staggered under the weight of them. 

“Michael from down the road got some extra onions,” Lorraine told Rita, “so I’m thinking French onion soup?”

“Won’t we need cheese for that?”

“We don’t have to use much,” said Lorraine, “and we can use that beef stock that’s been sitting there.”

Megan tuned out the talking - it was mostly about food and cooking, and she didn’t know much about that. 

She followed after the two women as they made their way towards the church, which was an old clapboard building in the middle of a rather dried up yard - everything that should have been green was brown, and the grass crunched underfoot.

Her head was still fuzzy, and it was difficult to walk, what with the giant bag of onions and the fact that the shoes she was wearing were too big.

She wasn’t used to wearing skirts either, and the hem of it fluttering around her legs was distracting, making it harder for her to keep her balance.

At least it was all flat, right?

By the time they’d reached the church, Megan was sweating, her mouth open as she panted.

She stood in the shadow of the church, as Lorraine dug through her giant purse to pull out a key, presumably to unlock the door.

They were in the corner, in a kitchen, and it was a big, industrial kitchen, with a wooden table in the middle that looked sturdy enough to butcher a cow on.

Megan set the bag of onions on the table, trying not to wince at the way the muscles in her arms twanged.

There was a note on the table, and Lorraine read it, and frowned.

“Norman got called away,” she said. “He’ll be here later, but it’s just us for now.”

“Good girl, Megan,” said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the cheek. “Now go wash up, and put on an apron.”

There were aprons hanging from the hook behind the door, and Megan obediently went to put one on. 

Was she always this biddable?

It didn’t feel like it was worth it to argue, but some part of her wanted to.

Something felt… off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

She went to wash her hands in the big sink, and then she stood next to the table, waiting for instructions.

“Okay,” said Lorraine, rubbing her hands together, “so.”

“So,” Megan echoed.

“You’re going to chop the onions,” said Lorraine. “Do you know how to chop an onion?”

“Can you show me how?”

Megan tried not to let the embarrassment flooding through her come out in her voice.

She mostly succeeded.

“Of course,” said Lorraine, and then… she was doing things with the knife.

Megan couldn’t really keep track - she didn’t know what to watch, in particular - the tip of the knife? The long part of it? Was there a particular way of doing it?

But regardless, as she kept her eyes on it, she saw that there was now chopped onion in front of her.

Okay.

She could do this.

She went through the steps with Lorraine, slower this time, and it was still like trying to think through a fog - she was so tired, for some reason, and her head hurt.

“You wanna listen to some music while you chop?”

Lorraine… was fishing an MP3 player out of her handbag, and a pair of old fashioned headphones - the ones with the foam ears, like you’d see in the nineties. 

“Oh,” said Megan. “Uh, sure.”

“I didn’t think you’d like church music much,” Lorraine added, “but in my youth, I did some traveling. I’ve got some foreign music.”

“Sure,” said Megan, because the idea of listening to “foreign” music while chopping onions sounded vaguely enjoyable. 

Almost like meditation.

“Good girl,” said Lorraine, and then she was setting up a song, and putting the headphones on Megan herself.

Lorraine must have really been feeling her empty nest, with how touch-y she was being.

Not that Megan minded too much - she was skin hungry to an almost terrifying degree, she was realizing - she missed being touched, more than she could even imagine, and it was hard to put that into words, especially when talking to the nice church lady.

But she’d worry about that later.

The music filled the headphones - flutes and pan pipes and guitar, and that was relaxing.

She grabbed an onion, cut it in half, then pulled the papery outer skin off and dumping it into the bucket at her feet.

She began to prep the onions, one at a time, and there was something relaxing about it - she just chopped onions, as the big bag began to get smaller, as the pile of onions in the big tub next to her got bigger.

She was so lost in it that she didn’t notice that she needed to pee until her lower belly throbbed, at which point the need hit her over the head like a baseball bat.

“Oh,” Megan said thickly, and she put down the knife, her hand shaking.

When had her hand gotten so sore?

How had she gotten so lost in it?

There was an undertone to the music she’d been listening to, she realized - some kind of undertone that she’d missed, but she wasn’t paying attention to that now, she was just pressing her thighs together, trying not to think about how badly she had to pee.

“Lorraine?”

Megan’s voice was rough.

“Just a minute, sugar,” said Lorraine.

She had her sleeves rolled up, and seemed to be mixing a giant bowl of ground meat. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” Megan said. “Where is it?”

“Rita, take her to the lady’s, will you?”

“Of course,” said Rita, who had been chopping tomatoes. She put her knife down, wiping her hands on her apron, and then she took off the apron. “C’mon, sweetie.”

Megan took her own apron off, her hands shaking, and she walked slowly after Rita, as the older woman made her way towards a door at the back of the kitchen.

She followed after Rita, down the stairs, and there was the bathroom. 

Okay.

“I’ll leave you to it, honey,” said Rita, and then she was back up the stairs, and Megan was trying to open the bathroom door.

It was stuck.

“No,” Megan mumbled, and it was a long, drawn out whine. She pulled on the door, and she grabbed between her legs, squeezing herself through the dress. “Please, god, _please_.”

The door rattled in its frame, but nothing else happened.

She gave a broken sob, but nothing happened.

She was still locked out.

She was locked out, and she was going to pee her pants, if she wasn’t careful.

She was practically _dancing_ now - did she need to go back up?

“Lorraine?”

The heavy door at the top of the stairs would be locked, Megan realized, which meant that she couldn’t really do much.

She reached for the men’s room door… taking a shuffling step to the left… and that stirred up the dust.

It stirred up the dust enough that she was fighting back a sneeze, and then she _was_ sneezing, sneezing hard enough that it was startling her bladder, and she was sobbing, as it all came out.

She pissed herself in a rush, and the heat of it felt like she was going to be burnt, as she shook, piss dripping down her legs, puddling around the shoes that she'd borrowed, the shoes that were still too big.

"Megan?" 

There was Lorraine, calling down the stairway, and fear froze in Megan's gut, like someone had dropped a ball of ice down her throat. 

"Lorraine, I... I had an accident," Megan said, and god, if that wasn't humiliating.

As if this wasn't all just one big humiliation sundae, to round up the whole mess of... everything.

Megan found, to some shock, that tears were dripping down her face. 

She was crying - she was _sobbing_ , her voice broken her hands shaking and covering her face, and she was standing in a puddle of her own piss.

"Megan, what in the... oh, oh, _honey_ ," said Lorraine, and she was rushing down the stairs, two at a time, thundering down them like a herd of elephants. 

She took Megan in her arms, and she held Megan, as Megan cried into her shoulder, clutching at her dress.

"It's okay, honey, it's okay, it happens. You're just a little girl, aren't you? It's okay, I know how to take care of a little girl, c'mon...."

She was making soothing noises, as Megan kept sobbing, sniffling into Lorraine's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Megan mumbled, her voice rough and cracking. "I can clean it up, I'll -"

"Don't worry about it, honey," said Lorraine. "It was an accident, we'll get you home, we can come back. It'll be fine, shhh...."

She rocked Megan, and Megan leaned into her, still crying, crying hard enough to leave a wet spot on Lorraine's shoulder, and Megan's dress was wet, Megan's shoes were wet, it was all just... a mess.

"Everything okay down there?" Rita called from upstairs.

"Megan had a little accident," said Lorraine. "I'm gonna take her home and change her, maybe let her have a sleep. I think she's overstimulated."

_They're talking about me like I'm an infant,_ Megan realized, _and maybe they should be, since I just wet myself like an infant._

"Aw, poor honey," said Rita. "Well, I can cover stuff here while you get her back home."

"You hear that, Megan? We can get you ready. Let's just... get you out of those wet things, I think I have a sweater you can borrow, you're such a tiny thing...."

* * * 

Lorraine cleaned Megan off in the bathroom.

Megan was too tired, her head too foggy to properly object, just submitted to it. 

It was hard to protest, when she had literally just pissed herself like some kind of little kid.

Like a little baby.

She let herself be wrapped up in Lorraine's big sweater - it was practically a housecoat, and even in the stifling heat, it was a relief to be covered up, to not be covered by the wet fabric. 

The wet dress was put in a plastic garbage bag, and Megan was hustled off to the car, barefoot.

"It's a good thing we left so early, huh?" Lorraine's tone was almost teasing, as she buckled Megan into the back seat.

Megan was just too _tired_ to argue, to do much of anything - what was going on?

She was a grown woman. Why was she submitting to this so easily?

"There we go, darling," said Lorraine, and she made eye contact with Megan in the rear view mirror, smiling at her. "Look at you, all tuckered out."

Megan yawned, and she leaned back into the seat.

"You wanna listen to more music, honey? You look anxious."

"Yeah," Megan said, although her own voice was coming from a long way off. "Yeah, thank you."

"Good girl," said Lorraine, her tone approving, and she handed Megan the MP3 player. "Find whatever you wanna listen to, enjoy it."

Megan chose a track at random - she didn't particularly care what she listened to, as long as it was something to shut up the shouting in her head. She put on something that sounded Latin American, and if there was a quiet undertone in the background, well... Megan wasn't paying attention. 

She was already falling asleep, lulled by the rocking of the car and the music in her ears.

* * *

When they got back to the house, Megan finally met Lorraine's husband.

He was an older man, in his late forties, built like a tank, and he had a mustache that a walrus would have been proud of.

There were probably other details about him, but mostly, her head was full of shouting, because _she was practically naked in front of a man she didn't know, oh god_.

"You must be Megan," he said, and he smiled at her. 

"Hi," said Megan, he voice very quiet. 

She was wrapped in the big grey sweater, and everything was... hidden, as it were, but she still smelled like pee. 

Oh god.

"I'm going to go give her a quick bath, then we'll go back to the church," said Lorraine. 

"Sounds like a plan," said Norman, and he reached out, _pinching her cheek_ , and she blushed, but didn't protest otherwise. "You're just the cutest little thing, aren't you?"

Megan blushed, looked down.

"Don't embarrass her, Norman," Lorraine scolded. 

"Sorry, sorry," said Norman, and he patted her cheek, then went off towards his own car, presumably to head to the church.

"He's a big softy," Lorraine said, her expression fond. "You ready?"

Megan nodded.

"Good girl," said Lorraine, and she led Megan by the hand, into the house.

* * * 

Megan was given a bath - an actual sponge bath, and she would have been embarrassed, if she wasn't having so much trouble keeping her eyes open.

She was given another sippy cup of juice as well, and she drank it quietly in the tub, as Lorraine washed her.

There wasn't anything... untoward about any of this - nothing felt sexy, or as if she was being taken advantage of.

If anything, _she_ was taking advantage of _Lorraine_ , and that was a scary thing to think about.

She sniffed, more tears gathering in the backs of her eyes, and Lorraine made a sympathetic noise.

"You doin' okay, honey?"

"I just...." Megan sniffled. "I haven't done anything like this before." 

“You must have, when you were a little girl,” said Lorraine. “Did you finish your juice?”

Megan nodded.

“Good girl,” said Lorraine, as the washcloth moved across Megan’s thighs. “Now… I’m going to have to dress you up carefully, because we’re going to be working in a kitchen, and I need it to be sanitary. Do you understand?”

Megan’s stomach was sinking, but she just nodded.

“Good girl,” said Lorraine, and she patted Megan on the cheek. “Now… let’s get you dressed, and we can head back to the soup kitchen.” 

“Right,” said Megan.

* * *

Megan walked out into the pink bedroom that she was beginning to think of as “her room” in spite of herself… and then stopped.

There was a diaper spread out on the bed.

A full on adult diaper, and it looked thick.

“That’s… Lorraine, I can’t wear that,” Megan said weakly.

“I’ve got a zero tolerance wetting policy,” Lorraine said, and her voice was stern. “If you’re going to have accidents, I’m going to to keep you protected.” She smiled at Megan. “Think of it like this - when you stay dry, you’ll be fine, right?”

“... right,” Megan mumbled, and she was blushing - it was hard to actually think straight, hard to really argue when this woman had fed her, clothed her, and helped keep her out of jail.

“Just hop on up, darling,” said Lorraine, and she indicated the diaper.

Megan sat down on it, flushing, and the diaper crinkled under her, a humiliating crinkle that made her want to curl up and hide forever.

She let herself be pushed onto her back, let the diaper be pulled up between her legs, and then Lorraine was rubbing baby powder onto her inner thighs, sprinkling her crotch with it, and Megan covered her face with both hands, trying not to squirm and whine too much.

“Good girl,” Lorraine said, her tone soothing, as she drew the front of the diaper up, and then she was taping Megan in.

The diaper was thick enough that Megan couldn’t close her legs, and it crinkled with every step she took.

Oh _god_.

“Aren’t you just adorable?”

Lorraine’s face was soft, and there was something painful that Megan was missing.

Megan looked down at her own thighs, and she was blushing.

“May I have some clothes, please?”

“Of course, honey,” said Lorraine, and then she was digging through the closet, coming back with a cotton dress, printed with little lambs frolicking across it.

It looked like something a baby would wear, and Megan wanted to die - it didn’t really look long enough to even cover the diaper, and none of this was _fair_.

… Megan bit her lip to keep from crying again, and she lifted her arms up, to let Lorraine pull the dress over her head. 

“There we go,” said Lorraine. “We’ll just do your hair up all pretty, and then we’ll go back to the church. You can fold programs for me.”

“You don’t want me to keep chopping onions?”

“I think you might be a bit too sleepy for that,” said Lorraine, her tone affectionate. “I don’t wanna trust someone who can’t even keep her panties dry with a knife.”

Megan flushed, biting her lip, and she squirmed, trying to press her thighs together.

No dice.

“Right,” Megan said quietly.

“You ready to go, baby?”

Megan nodded.

“Good girl.”

* * *

Megan sat on a pew, her legs still spread open by the diaper, her rear end well padded.

She was so tired - she was so tired, and her folds were becoming messier, as the music played in her headphones.

She was given another sippy cup of juice, and she was drinking it absently, almost without thinking. 

She wasn’t really thinking of anything, honestly - she was just letting herself fall into the repetition, letting herself sink into it all.

She was so tired.

Why was she so tired?

She finished her juice, as the music sang in her ears, and then she leaned over - she could rest her eyes for a little bit, right?

That wouldn’t be a problem.

* * *

Megan was woken up by the familiar face of Nicole, who was leaning over her, grinning.

“Hi, sweetie,” said Nicole, and she reached a hand out, patting Megan on the cheek. “You were tired, huh?”

Megan sat up, or at least, tried to.

She was still sluggish, and she yawned.

And then she froze.

She’d peed herself.

She’d full on peed herself in her sleep.

Although if she was peeing herself while she was awake, peeing herself in her sleep was the next logical step.

Oh _god_.

She moaned, a quiet little sound, and Nicole made some kind of sympathetic sound.

“Are you okay, honey?”

“I, uh….”

And then Lorraine was bustling in, her feet loud on the floor.

“Nicole, can you watch Megan?” 

“Of course,” said Nicole. “I came in to check in on her anyway. How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing great,” Lorraine said. “Absolutely great.”

“That’s good,” said Nicole. “You’re being a good girl, huh?”

Megan blushed, and she nodded.

“Can you keep her entertained?” Lorraine looked faintly frazzled. “I’ve got a diaper bag in the corner, it’s got her special juice and extra diapers.”   
Megan should have been more embarrassed - she was being talked about as if she was an infant.

“Of course,” said Nicole, and she crouched down in front of Megan, pushing up Megan’s skirt. “I think she’s wet - I’ll get her changed.”

“Go into the church nursery,” said Lorraine - you can find some toys as well.”

“You hear that, honey? We can go have some fun.”

Nicole took Megan’s hand, and Megan just… took it.

The music she’d been listening to was rattling around in the back of her head, and she let it fill up her entire self, until she was shuffling after Nicole, into a side room. 

There was indeed a diaper bag in the corner, and Nicole was spreading out a towel on the floor, then guiding Megan onto it. 

“There we go,” Nicole said, and she was lying Megan back, undoing the diaper. 

Megan wanted… what did Megan want?

It was all muddled in her head - she wanted to not be wet, she wanted more juice.

She wanted to not be in Boston, and that was what mattered, wasn’t it?

Some small part of her mind was screaming at her, but she ignored it - she let herself be undiapered - she shrieked with laughter when Nicole blew a raspberry on her belly.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, which had glow in the dark stars stuck to it, and she resisted the urge to suck her thumb.

She’d never been like this before, this pliant, this biddable, but it was just… easier.

Nicole taped her into the clean diaper, and then she was being sat up, and Nicole was giving her a pat on the head, going to wash her hands, then coming back with a story book. 

“How about I read to you, baby? We can wait for Lorraine and Rita and everyone else to finish, and then we can go eat our lunch?”

Megan nodded, not really paying attention, just leaning back into Nicole’s chest, as the older woman supported her, opening up the book to a picture of a cow. 

* * *

Megan was read to.

At lunch time, a bib was put on her, and she was fed by Lorraine, spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and little cut up hot dogs. She tried to eat them with a fork, but her hands were clumsy, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open - her hands and face ended up sticky with it.

It was just… easier to go along.

She had arguments, but they died when she opened her mouth, when she tried to formulate them.

It was like trying to think through a fog, and she was just so _tired_ \- why bother putting any effort into it, when she could just go along with everything?

She’d probably have her mind back tomorrow, right? She’d be able to think in a straight line then.

She sat at the kitchen table, clumsily trying to color, mostly listening to Lorraine and Rita talk about this and that, as Nicole played with her some more, baby talking her and playing peekaboo. 

She smiled at Nicole, and Nicole beamed back.

She peed the diaper - not on purpose, never on purpose - but she was changed again, and it was a little less embarrassing than it had been the last time. 

When it was time for people to be served, Megan was just… set at the table again, with Rita this time, and Rita knit and talked, and Megan dozed, her head in her hands.

She peed herself again, and drank more juice and was fussed over as more church ladies came over - their faces and their names all blended together, into one mess of perfume and big hair and long dresses.

Megan let it all just wash over her - let herself get lost in it all.

This wasn’t so bad, was it?

Maybe that was her community service - giving them a baby to fuss over.

If she focused on that, more than anything else, it’d be okay.

She’d be okay.

It was all going to be okay. 

It would.


End file.
